


My Mind Is On You

by goodnight_tinyhumans



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Barebacking, Dreamwalking, Future Fic, M/M, Magic!Stiles, Stiles is 18, and sex, and some feels thrown in for good measure, five times fic, there are blowjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-27
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-19 17:01:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/575562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodnight_tinyhumans/pseuds/goodnight_tinyhumans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Stiles thinks he's just dreaming, and one time he knows he isn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this prompt](http://teenwolfkink.livejournal.com/7250.html?thread=6168658#t6168658) at the kink meme. 
> 
> Title from Little Dreams by Ellie Goulding, beta'd by the lovely [OhNylL](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ohnyll).
> 
> Check the end of the chapter for a couple notes about the timeline.

# 0.

When Deaton warned Stiles that using magic, even just for emergencies, would cause it to bleed over into other parts of his life, he didn’t quite believe it. The things he was learning were about honed, focused belief, about controlling the power he had discovered. It just hadn’t made sense that something he had been learning how to control from day one would be able to almost develop a mind of its own and sneak up on him when he wasn’t expecting it.

Really, the first rule of dealing with werewolves and other things that went bump in the night should have been that nothing turns out the way it was expected to.

# 1.

Stiles opened his eyes to find himself in the middle of the woods. This wasn’t an odd occurrence in and of itself; these days, he spent more time in the woods than he did out of them. It was a completely natural side effect of being the one man in the wolf pack, or something.

No, what was weird in this situation was that he wasn’t alone in the forest, but he wasn’t with the pack, either.

He was with Derek Hale.

Stiles had long ago given up on running with the assumption that Derek hated him; he’d come to realize that the only person Derek truly hated was himself, and unfortunately, that feeling hit close enough to home that he’d felt the need to stop antagonizing the poor guy. Or at least stop antagonizing him as much. They still weren’t friends, exactly, but they more-than-tolerated each other, to the point where they were exchanging knowing looks and sarcastic eye-rolls over the betas’ heads more often than not these days.

Still, Stiles had never really had someone he knew intrude on his dreams before. Sure, Lydia had made appearances from time to time, but he was secure enough in himself now to acknowledge that she’d been more of an idea to him than an actual person, at least up until the Werewolf Shenanigans of 2011. He definitely didn’t want to think about that now, though; not when the Grumpiest Little Alpha was lying on the ground, curled up in a ball on the ground that looked altogether uncomfortable. Stiles picked his way carefully through the trees to where Derek lay, folding himself down to sit cross-legged next to him. Once he was settled, however, he had no idea how to proceed; the real-life Derek never showed this kind of raw, unchecked emotion, and if he did, he’d be more likely to literally bite Stiles’ hand off than accept any kind of comfort.

Either way, Stiles had to do something, so he reached out awkwardly to rest a hand on Derek’s shoulder.

The response was instant.

Derek shuddered, a drawn-out, full-body shiver that had Stiles worried for a moment before he curled back in on himself.

“Derek?” Stiles asked quietly.

“Go away.”

“Stands to reason you’d still be an asshole,” Stiles snorted. “Come on, dude. Self-destruction is not an option. I have things I’d like to get back to, okay? So just tell Stiles what’s wrong so you can get back to whatever dream-you does when you’re not making like a beach ball.”

“Why are you the way that you are?” Derek said with a glare, but he shoved himself up into a semi-sitting position, arms wrapped around himself, so Stiles counted it as a win, altogether.

“It’s just… it’s the day,” Derek mumbled after a moment of silence, words muffled by his knees, but Stiles could hear well enough that he realized quickly what Derek was talking about.

“Oh, shit,” Stiles murmured. “I’m sorry, man.” He didn’t say anything more than that, he didn’t need to; he knew more than anyone that the last thing Derek needed to hear was empty sympathies. Instead, Stiles moved a tiny bit closer to Derek, reached out a hand to touch his shoulder again. When Derek didn’t move, Stiles dared to start gently rubbing the spot where his hand lay. Stiles was surprised to see Derek actually lean into his touch after a moment or two, eyes closed and lips parted. If Stiles were looking, he might have been able to see tears welling up in Derek’s eyes, but he knew instinctively that that would be the last thing Derek would want. So he sat there, comforting Derek as best he could.

“It was all my fault,” Derek said quietly a few minutes later.

“Derek…”

“No, it was,” he insisted. “It was… I know you know it was Kate who set the fire; I know you know that much.” Derek paused, and the look on his face was almost painful to look at. “She came to my school as a substitute teacher that year. She said she liked me. I was the weird kid, you know. My family was weird, to most of the town. We lived on our own, kept to ourselves, we liked it that way, but people talked. It sucked. Nobody would really hang around me and Laura in school. And then she just… she was so young, and so beautiful, and she said she liked me. I trusted her.” Derek lowered his head to his knees again, hiding his face. Stiles moved closer still, curling his arm around Derek’s neck in a one-armed hug. “I can still see it. Hear it. I wasn’t there when it started but Laura howled for me when she got home and found it on fire. We tried, but we couldn’t get them out.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Stiles told him fiercely. “She used you, Derek. You were just a kid, God, you must have been younger than me. There were a lot of things wrong, but nothing you did was one of them, okay? I know you feel guilty, I understand that better than anyone. But you can’t hold onto it forever. It’ll kill you. And that’ll kill us.”

“Maybe you’d all be better off without me.” Derek’s answer was so soft Stiles barely heard it.

“Dude.” Stiles smacked Derek’s arm, not hard, but hard enough to make him look up in surprise. “We need you. And not because _you’re the Alpha_ , man. I mean, you’re the Alpha, but you’re also Derek. You might be a bit of a tool sometimes when you’re stressed and power-tripping, but you’re our friend.  We’re a pack. So don’t ever let me hear you say that shit again.” Stiles tapped Derek’s shoulder again for good measure before returning to the rubbing he’d been doing earlier, a little less surprised this time when Derek just relaxed into him, leaning against his side. He settled in, tracing little patterns against the thin cotton of Derek’s shirt, until he lost track of time and opened his eyes in his own room again.

 

 

# 2.

A few weeks later, Stiles found himself out in the middle of the woods again.

“This is ridiculous,” Stiles muttered to the overhanging trees. He’d just spent fifteen minutes wandering around aimlessly, trying to get himself somewhere other than the burnt-out ruin in front of him, but he kept turning himself around somehow, ending up almost directly in front of the door every time he thought he’d gotten away.

Stiles slowly made his way up the stairs, because it would be just like his subconscious to send him out to the creepy old Hale house and then shove someone like Peter in his way. Peter, who, even a few years after the Werewolf Shenanigans of 2011, was still at large and sneaking around somewhere, which still gave Stiles nightmares from time to time. No freakin’ thanks.

Luckily, however, Uncle Bad-Touch was nowhere to be found. The house was silent, still, except for a rhythmic sound from somewhere in the depths of the house.

“Hello?” Stiles whispered. If it was hunters, he didn’t need to announce his presence; if it was a wolf, they should already know he was there. He didn’t get an answer, however, so he kept walking. The pounding noise got louder and louder, until he finally opened a door to find Derek, ruthlessly attacking a punching bag strung up in the middle of the room. Stiles stifled a laugh; the whole scene was straight out of The Avengers, complete with a pile of extra bags sitting in the corner. He took a moment to just watch, until Derek knocked the current bag off its chain and turned around to stare at him, eyebrows raised in question.

Even dream-Derek was a sarcastic, snarky asshole. Go figure. But it was an improvement over dream-Derek lying on the ground saying he wanted to die, so Stiles would take what he could get.

“Just, you know, in the area,” Stiles shrugged. “Wandering towards weird noises and weird situations is kinda par for the course for me, dude.”

“Of course.” Derek rolled his eyes so hard that Stiles was surprised when they didn’t fall out of his head. “I was pretty much done, anyway.”

“What, not gonna Cap your way through the rest of them?” Stiles asked, gesturing at the pile of bags. Derek stared at him. “Oh my god, you haven’t seen it, have you? You haven’t seen The Avengers.”

That was how Stiles ended up curled up next to Derek on a dingy, dusty couch watching The Avengers on a TV that he was fairly sure wasn’t even plugged in. His dreams were _weird_ sometimes.

He had seen the movie many times, of course; it was his go-to ‘I’m bored and need something to do’ distraction, so he knew most of it off by heart and had to physically stop himself from talking along with the movie. He glanced over at Derek about a quarter of the way through to see a small smile spreading across his face, though his eyes were fixed on the screen, and Stiles decided that maybe this was a decent way to spend his night’s sleep after all. Once he realized that Derek wasn’t going to kill him for just watching the movie, Stiles started to relax a little. He mumbled a few lines, pointed his fingers at the screen like guns whenever the characters opened fire on the screen, and generally made a little bit of a nuisance of himself until-

“Oomph!” He suddenly found himself sprawled across Derek’s chest. “Dude, what? What the hell is with the caveman thing?” Derek had picked him up and pulled him over so he was half-sitting on Derek’s lap, legs draped across the recently vacated couch cushion and the top half of his body being manhandled into place.

“It’s hard watching the movie when you’re moving around so much,” Derek answered, eyes fixed on the screen as he settled Stiles into a comfortable position and moved his arms back to the back of the couch. The corners of his mouth were still tilted up in the tiny, satisfied smile that Derek only really wore when he was content, though, so Stiles didn’t think he had to worry too much about his throat getting ripped out.

He lay there for a few minutes, enjoying despite himself the heat that leached through from Derek’s body to his. Derek was surprisingly comfortable- seriously, all the muscle, you’d think it would be like lying on a floor or something- and Stiles actually didn’t mind the situation too much. Especially when he started to fidget again and Derek wrapped his arms around him, effectively holding him still.

“You’re a horrible person to watch movies with,” Derek grumbled into Stiles’ shoulder. “Absolutely horrible. We’re never doing this again.”

“Dude, if we did this while I was awake you’d totally eat me, and not in a fun way,” Stiles pointed out with a laugh. Derek chuckled too, shaking his head in amusement, before turning his attention back to the movie, and this time, Stiles watched him instead of pretending to pay attention to Black Widow’s ass.

The view really wasn’t that bad.

# 3.

Stiles dreamed about lacrosse pretty often, all things considered. It certainly took up a good part of his waking life, or at least it had, until the werewolf thing happened. So, really, finding himself on the field throwing balls around wasn’t that strange of an occurrence.

No, it was his opponents this time that made the difference. He was surrounded by his own team, though they were faceless, nameless mannequins in Beacon Hills uniforms; but the other team wasn’t from any of the surrounding high schools. No, their jerseys were an icy blue that reminded Stiles of winter- what little winter they got here, anyway- and had HALE printed at the top.

And the man wearing the jersey marked ‘1’ was none other than Derek Hale.

The game was as gruelling as Stiles would have expected from playing against a werewolf; in his waking games, of course, the werewolves were all on his team. He felt a little bad for the other teams, now, knowing what facing off against the pack was like, but he was also pretty surprisingly holding his own.

Dream logic was awesome.

The game passed quickly, effort aside, and the air was full of catcalls and howls and the strange, gleeful, almost out-of-place laugh that fell from Derek’s lips whenever he scored. It ended in a tie, and Derek tackled Stiles to the ground and wrapped him in a full-body hug when they met for the hand-shaking after the game.

“The game is over, and this isn’t football, come on, Derek,” Stiles grumbled from his slightly squished position, but all he got in return was a laugh.

“Doesn’t have to be,” Derek mumbled, rubbing the side of his face against Stiles’. “’s just nice.” Stiles couldn’t argue there, choosing instead to just lie there, relax, and be a werewolf pillow for a few minutes. Eventually, Derek pulled away, sitting back on his heels and offering a hand to Stiles to pull him up.

“That was actually fun,” Derek said, pulling Stiles toward the school and the locker rooms. “We should do this with the pack.”

“Team building by pitching violent, instinct-driven teenagers against each other in a violent, instinct-driven game, what could possibly go wrong there?” Stiles asked sarcastically. Derek grinned, teeth bared, and dropped the hand that Stiles hadn’t even realized he’d still been holding as they passed through the doors of the locker room and headed towards the showers. Derek started stripping down as he walked, throwing his gear every which way, and Stiles stared after him for a moment before shrugging it off and following suit. If he was being honest with himself- and if he couldn’t be honest with himself in his own dream, there were problems here that had nothing to do with his involvement with werewolves- he didn’t mind too much, and it was kind of nice to know that dream-Derek appeared to have the same allergy to clothes as real-life-Derek.

The showers were already flooded with steam by the time Stiles made it inside, arms draped carefully across his junk. He wasn’t the type to be ashamed of his body, really; he’d accepted a long time ago that he was never going to have the supernaturally sculpted-marble physique of the werewolves he spent all his time around, but even that confidence didn’t mean he necessarily wanted Derek- even dream-Derek- to get a good view of Little Stiles. Although, judging by the fact that he couldn’t even see Derek through the steam, he didn’t have much to worry about.

Stiles sighed as he stepped under the stream of water. It wasn’t at all like the water in the real school, which was lukewarm at best, as a rule; this was exactly the way Stiles liked it, just a hair over comfortably hot in a way that made his skin feel cleaner, somehow. He scrubbed a hand over his face, through his short hair, steadfastly ignoring the fact that Derek- Derek, who apparently now inspired dreams about cuddling and hand-holding- was somewhere close by, equally naked. He finished up quickly, never one to take long showers unless he was planning to entertain himself which, no, not happening with a werewolf in the room, and was heading back to the locker room to get dressed when he felt Derek behind him.

He turned, quickly, and found himself face-to-face with Derek, who was most definitely naked. Stiles focused his gaze on the ceiling instead of the expanse of skin in front of him, taking a few hesitant steps back until his back hit the cold, tiled wall.

“Stiles,” Derek rumbled, following him until they were standing mere inches apart. He leaned forward, bracing one arm against the wall and nuzzling into Stiles’ neck. “You smell good,” he mumbled, pressing up against him, and _hello_. That was…different. Little Derek was not exactly little, and Little Stiles was definitely interested in making friends.

“Dude, okay, what. This is _weird_ behaviour. Weird behaviour, even for you, who freaking cuddled me into staying quiet in the last dream,” Stiles groaned. Derek was flat-out kissing him now; pressing lines of tiny kisses up and down the line of his throat, and every part of Stiles’ body was starting to ache with the need to get with the program and just _touch_. “Stop brainwashing me and my dick, it’s not cool that you can snark at me non-stop in real life and then start licking me in my fucking dreams, you’re going to kill me, I am going to die of whiplash.”

He lost track of his babbling after that, his brain taking the back seat to giving into the urge to run his own hands over Derek’s body. He shuddered, long fingers gripping tight onto Derek’s shoulders, as Derek made his way up to Stiles’ ear, nipping quickly before capturing Stiles’ lips with his own.

“Derek,” Stiles choked out when they finally broke apart for air. Derek hummed in agreement, and when he pulled back to look at Stiles his eyes were glowing. Not the red cast they took on when he was in full-on ass-kicking Alpha mode, nor the blue they’d been when he had been a beta; they were his usual hazel colour, but with a strange light behind them that gave them an almost feral look. Stiles swallowed, unable to pull his eyes away as Derek leaned in tortuously slowly only to stop mere centimetres from kissing him again. Instead, he took his hands away from the wall, trailing cold but quickly warming fingers down the line of Stiles’ chest, following their path down until his hands rested easily on his hips.

“I want,” Derek began, his voice low enough that Stiles had to strain to hear it. “I want to touch you.”

“Kinda behind the times on that one,” Stiles replied with a smirk.

“Stiles,” Derek grumbled, and the little wrinkle between his eyebrows when he furrowed them at Stiles was actually pretty cute when he wasn’t properly glaring at him. Stiles grinned, dropping a quick kiss at the corner of Derek’s lips.

“Then touch me, Derek,” he whispered in Derek’s ear. It was a good thing he was dreaming, because he’d never have the confidence to act like this while pressed, naked, up against the actual Derek. He felt Derek’s grip on his hips tighten almost imperceptibly.

“I don’t want to break you.”

Stiles was never going to get used to the quiet, vulnerable Derek Hale that came out once the anger and frustration had been worked off.

“Then let me help,” Stiles suggested. He gave Derek a gentle push, rearranging their bodies so that Derek’s back was pressed against the wall, legs spread and cock on display as Stiles took a step back to appreciate the view. Derek was giving him the sceptical eyebrows again- and no wonder that was showing up in Stiles’ subconscious, because he saw them _all the time_ in real life- and he gave him what he hoped was a reassuring grin as he dropped to his knees.

“Lie back and think of… Beacon Hills?” He offered. That was enough to make Derek smile a little, and Stiles reached out, letting his hands trace over the lines of Derek’s abs before honing in on the main event. “I’m warning you now, I know how to do this in theory, not practice,” he mumbled, looking up at Derek from where he knelt. “So… stop me if I suck at this?” He paused and made a face at himself. “Pun not intended.”

“Stiles.” Derek said, and there was a lilt to his voice that Stiles enjoyed more than he probably should. “There is nothing you could do right now that could screw this up.”

 _Well now I’m doomed,_ Stiles thought to himself, but he went ahead anyway, curling his long fingers around the base of Derek’s dick and leaning forward to flick his tongue over the tip.

Feeling bolder when Derek made no move to pull away- and really, the way his hips bucked ever so slightly against even that little bit of sensation was pretty hot- Stiles squeezed the hand wrapped around Derek gently before starting to move. He’d only ever had himself as a guinea pig for this particular act, so he kept glancing up at Derek to take stock of his expressions and make sure he wasn’t doing anything horribly wrong.

The heated looks he got in return were so, so worth it.

The feral glow was back in Derek’s eyes, and Stiles looked up to meet them as he sucked the head of Derek’s cock into his mouth. He was pleased to see that Derek looked like he was having a hard time keeping himself still; his hands were clenched into fists against the tile behind him, his entire body was tensed up to keep from thrusting too hard into Stiles’ mouth. Which, wow, that mental image was doing a few really awesome things to Stiles' brain.

Stiles moved his free hand encouragingly to Derek’s hip, pulling his head back and releasing Derek’s cock with a pop.

“It’s okay,” he said quietly. “You’re not going to hurt me, I want to feel you.” He moved back, taking Derek deeper as he tugged gently at his hip. Derek made a low, rumbling noise in the back of his throat- not a growl, exactly, but close- and started to move. His pace was slow, gentle, and he was careful at first not to move more than a few inches back and forth. But as Stiles got more enthusiastic, he let himself go, and soon Stiles could feel Derek’s hand sliding over the back of his head, coming to rest at the base of his neck and gently holding him in place as he fucked Stiles’ face.

Stiles moaned, moving his hands away from Derek’s dick entirely and instead holding on to Derek’s thighs, fingernails digging in slightly. Derek growled at that, a real growl this time, and when Stiles looked up to meet his eyes Derek groaned, but didn’t look away.

“I’m gonna-” he began, and tried to push Stiles away, but Stiles shook his head. He pushed on Derek’s hips, holding him against the wall, and sank down, taking Derek’s full length in as Derek shuddered and spurts of come filled his mouth. Stiles worked him through it, sucking and licking until Derek was almost drooping back against the wall. He pulled off with a satisfied smile, pressing a kiss to Derek’s hip bone, and stood, wrapping his arms around Derek to help him get back to an upright position.

“Are you okay? Did I break your brain?” Stiles asked jokingly. Derek rolled his eyes a little at that, but the look in them was fond.

“Maybe a little,” he admitted softly. He turned to Stiles, cupping his jaw and turning Stiles’ face to his, and kissed him gently. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Stiles pointed out, confused. “I enjoyed it as much as you did.”

“But thank you anyway,” Derek said with a shrug. Stiles smiled and tightened his arms a little, surprised when Derek slipped his own around Stiles’ waist and pulled him closer.

Werewolf cuddles were _awesome_.


	2. Chapter 2

# 4.

Waking up to the smell of home-cooked food was not something that happened to Stiles very often. Between his dad’s work schedule and Stiles’ wolf schedule, the Stilinski household had been pretty dependant on the local diner’s meagre Healthy Options menu for a while. But food, real food, _good_ food, was something that Stiles loved, something he associated with home and family. He smiled, contented, and opened his eyes. He could tell he was dreaming almost immediately; he was in a bed he’d never been in before, in a room he’d never been in before, and the light streaming through the window had that glowy quality that made everything look just a tiny bit surreal. But dreaming or not, whatever was cooking smelled damn good, and Stiles wasn’t about to let a little something like reality get between it and his stomach.

He made his way slowly out of the room, stretching and scratching the sliver of skin exposed when his shirt rode up. He took a few moments to look around, surprised when he recognized the hallway as… Derek’s? The man had finally decided to rent a house in town once things calmed down, but he had flatly refused the pack’s offers to help him furnish and decorate it. Stiles had to admit, though, once Derek had finally gotten it the way he wanted it, the house looked awesome; the furniture utilitarian but comfortable, walls plain white and mostly undecorated but broken up by the navy blue curtains that hung at every window. There wasn’t much in the way of decoration, but everything in the place was just so _Derek_ , and Stiles felt comfortable and relaxed being there in his dream.

He made his way down to the kitchen, taking deep breaths as he went. He couldn’t quite tell what was cooking; it was some sort of meat, obviously, since most of the pack seemed to consider vegetables in general an affront to their wolfy nature. He stopped at the door to the kitchen, staring in surprise at the sight in front of him.

Derek Hale. With a dishtowel tucked neatly into the waistband of his jeans. Humming quietly to himself as he stirred a pot of what looked like spaghetti sauce from Stiles’ vantage point at the door.

“I am in the freaking Twilight Zone,” Stiles mumbled to himself. Of course Derek heard him, and chose that moment to turn around, setting the spoon down carefully across the lip of the pot and sending Stiles a small smile. Stiles was taken aback, as he always was, by how young Derek looked when he smiled. It wasn’t something the pack saw very often; as a general rule Derek didn’t frown as much as he used to, but true, unguarded smiles were still uncommon.

“I wasn’t sure when you’d smell food and come out,” Derek said with a chuckle. “C’mere, try.” He turned his back on Stiles, picking the spoon up again. Stiles wandered over, making a mental note to buy Derek a cheesy, themed apron, because, dream or not, the image of a grumpy Derek cooking dinner for the pack in a _kiss the cook_ apron was absolutely hilarious. He stopped next to Derek, side-eyeing the bubbling pot as Derek scooped out a mouthful. He paused for a moment, lips pursed like he wanted to blow on it to cool it down, but with a tiny frown he instead held the spoon out to Stiles.

Stiles took a tiny bite- he wasn’t a wimp, but burning the roof of your mouth sucked big time, and he didn’t really want to wake up with _that_ memory- and almost immediately let out a moan.

“Dude, this is amazing!” He met Derek’s eyes, offering up a grin before plucking the spoon from Derek’s fingers and shoving it in his mouth, missing the hungry look that filled Derek’s eyes as he slurped up the rest of the sauce.

“How about you sit down and we’ll eat?” Derek said with a laugh when Stiles held the spoon out to him expectantly, hoping for more. Stiles obliged, flopping down on one of the chairs at the kitchen table. Within a few moments they were sitting across from each other, steaming plates of spaghetti and meat sauce sitting in front of them. The meal itself was awesome- Stiles had loved spaghetti since he was a kid, and Derek’s came quite close to measuring up to his memories of his mom’s cooking- and sitting around, relaxing with Derek, was something that Stiles had been enjoying a lot lately. With or without the pack, he and Derek had become like friends over the past few months, and nagging memories of the random blowjob dream aside, he was quite happy to be right where he was.

It was totally okay for friends to secretly and objectively ogle their friends’ asses in their ridiculously tight jeans, wasn’t it?

After they ate, Stiles helped Derek clean up, then leaned back against the counter and watched as Derek packed up the leftovers and stowed them away in the fridge. Once that was done, Derek made his way back over to him and, to Stiles’ surprise, leaned into him, slipping his arms around his waist and bracketing him in against the counter.

He mumbled something against Stiles’ skin; something that sounded surprisingly like _missed you_ , and Stiles was shocked into silence. Apparently his subconscious wasn’t done with making him over-analyze his feelings about Derek Hale.

“Missed you too,” he replied quietly, because it was true; the real Derek was getting more comfortable with him, true, but there was something so easy about the way Stiles could interact with dream-Derek that he missed when he couldn’t just reach out and _touch_ whenever he wanted _._ Derek rewarded him with a smile, surging forward to press a kiss to Stiles’ lips and nip the lower one carefully as he pulled back.

“Come here,” Derek said, pulling back and tugging Stiles’ hand until he followed. He led him down the hall, back into the room where Stiles had woken up, which now registered dimly in Stiles’ brain as _holy shit, this is Derek’s room_. He followed Derek easily over to the bed, reacting with a chuckle when Derek skimmed his fingers along the hem of his shirt, brushing the skin underneath.

“Is this a thing? I’m really very much hoping that this is a thing,” Stiles groaned, lifting his arms to make it easier for Derek to tug the shirt over his head before stripping off his own. Derek tossed the shirts over to the corner before hooking an arm around Stiles’ neck and kissing him deeply as they fell to the bed. Derek landed with his weight on his arms, keeping Stiles from being crushed under his weight, and immediately ground his hips down into Stiles’.

“My, what a big-” Stiles began.

“Finish that sentence and I will get up and walk out of this room,” Derek threatened.

“No, you won’t,” Stiles replied happily, snaking one of his legs around Derek’s.

“No, I won’t,” Derek agreed with a sigh. “I guess I’ll just have to find some other way to keep you from your ill-advised quotations.” He made good on his word, kissing Stiles soundly before trailing his lips down his throat and chest. He paused, taking a moment to flick his tongue over Stiles’ nipples, making his back arch at the unfamiliar touch. He looked up, giving Stiles a wicked grin before nosing his way down to where Stiles’ jeans lay dangerously low on his hips. He lowered his head, mouthing at Stiles’ swiftly growing hard-on through the layers of denim and cotton that separated them.

“Derek,” Stiles whined. He wriggled, trying to get Derek to put just a _little_ more pressure on him, but the older man pulled away with a smirk, settling his hands on Stiles’ hips instead. He popped the button of Stiles’ jeans with his thumbs, seized the zipper pull in his teeth and pulled it down.

“You are actively _trying to kill me_ ,” Stiles hissed. “That’s not even- oh my god.” Derek had moved up on his knees, leaning over Stiles and using his teeth again, this time to pull Stiles’ jeans and boxers down to let his dick spring free. With a tiny growl- which shouldn’t have been as hot as it was- Derek swallowed Stiles down. Stiles’ hands moved almost of their own accord to cup the back of Derek’s head, fingers threading through his hair as he writhed against the mattress.

Derek looked up at him, mouth moving tortuously slowly as he curled his fingers into Stiles’ jeans, tugging carefully. He pulled back, ignoring Stiles’ needy whine as he pulled his jeans off entirely before settling himself on his stomach between Stiles’ legs.

Stiles’ brain was close to overloading. He’d thought up some pretty heavy stuff in his time, but none of his fantasies had ever come close to the image of Derek, shirtless in front of him, sucking on his cock like it was a Popsicle. And even better, even more astounding than that, was exactly what Derek was starting to do.

Stiles pushed himself up to lean on his elbows, watching as Derek sucked one of his own fingers into his mouth next to Stiles’ cock. He glanced up, meeting Stiles’ eyes and somehow managing to smile a little as he pulled his finger out and trailed it slowly down the soft skin of Stiles’ thigh. He circled Stiles’ hole slowly, gently, watching as Stiles’ head fell back before pulling his mouth away from Stiles’ cock and replacing it with his spare hand.

“You okay?” He asked quietly. He didn’t stop, and the movements seemed teasing; but Derek paused almost completely when Stiles tried to buck his hips into Derek’s hand.

“Yes, I’m great, okay, and _you’re_ awesome. Don’t stop,” Stiles babbled. Derek smiled a little, putting a little pressure behind the next tiny circle his finger made. Again and again, moving almost tortuously slowly, until it felt like it was all the way in and Stiles’ eyes dropped closed again to focus on the sensation. Almost immediately, he snapped them open again when Derek’s tongue joined his fingers.

“Derek!” Stiles moaned. “What are you- you don’t have to-”

“Stiles,” Derek interrupted. He paused, licking a wet stripe from Stiles’ hole to his balls. “Stop worrying and enjoy it.”

“I’m not worrying, I’m- oh, my god.”

Derek smirked and refocused on what he was doing, tongue pushing into Stiles side by side with first just one finger, then two. Stiles was writhing, moaning, hands clenching in the blankets underneath him by the time Derek took his cock back in his mouth, fingers buried deep inside him.

“Derek-” he choked out a moment later, all the warning he could give before he was coming. To his surprise, Derek pulled back, stroking him through it and when he came down from the height of his orgasm, it was to see Derek watching him, calmly dragging his fingers through the streaks of Stiles’ come across his face, then sucking it off his own fingers.

“Oh my god,” Stiles said weakly, unable to tear his eyes away. “Is that some kinky werewolf thing? Because I am totally down with this. This is going in my spank bank for the rest of eternity.”

“I’m going to smell like you now,” Derek replied with a shrug, tongue flicking out almost obscenely to catch the last drop of come just above his lip. Clean-up complete, he threw himself down next to Stiles, throwing an arm across his chest and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Hey, none of that,” Stiles breathed, turning his head to kiss Derek properly. The taste of his own come still lingered in Derek’s mouth, but it wasn’t as weird as he’d always thought it would be; it was just another layer to the Derek he’d dreamed up. They kissed slowly, lazily, until Stiles started to drift off again.

Waking up in the real world was gonna be a bitch.

 

# 5.

The sound of voices pulled Stiles from whatever fugue state he slipped into after he went to sleep but before he came to in his own personal dream-land. He sighed, a tiny frown creasing his forehead. The voices were familiar, as a group, though he couldn’t actually pick out the individual ones.

 _Pack meeting,_ his brain supplied, and ah. That was the reason for the frown, then. Stiles had been on edge for the better part of two weeks. Ever since the previous dream, he’d been torn between hoping he’d dream about Derek again (because, weird revelations and new feelings being exposed aside, the dreams were pretty awesome, and he woke up feeling great) and hoping that they wouldn’t get any farther (because, if he was getting semi-hard whenever the real, normal, decidedly-not-interested Derek looked at him already, he would die of embarrassment after his brain proved that it could create porn of its own free will). So far he’d escaped it, and it looked like his streak would continue for another night.

Stiles stood and opened the door, reminded of the last time he’d done this. This time, however, there was no scent of cooking drifting through the house, only the voices of the pack drawing him the other way down the hall, towards the living room. He padded softly down the hallway, passing through the door and waving as the pack looked up.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Erica called from her perch on Boyd’s lap. Stiles rolled his eyes, contemplating giving her the finger, but decided against it with a shrug. He made his way through the room, weaving between the haphazardly placed chairs until he tried to pass Derek and was suddenly pulled backwards, finding himself suddenly sitting on Derek’s lap with Derek’s arms wrapped possessively around him.

“Hello to you, too,” Stiles said. None of the pack reacted with surprise; Jackson rolled his eyes, Scott determinedly looked the other way, and Erica watched them with a lecherous smirk on her face.

Derek merely shrugged and continued with whatever it was he had been talking about before Stiles walked in. Stiles zoned out a little, leaning back and accepting that Derek wasn’t about to let him go. Instead, he just listened, enjoying the sound of the pack’s voices.

When everyone stood to leave, Derek stayed where he was, telling everyone goodbye from his seat. Stiles stretched as best he could in the circle of Derek’s arms.

“So, good meeting?” He asked.

“Same as always, I guess,” Derek replied. “I’m glad they’re gone, though.” He reached up comfortably, pulling Stiles down for a deep kiss.

“Mmm, me too,” Stiles murmured. He turned around as much as he could in Derek’s lap, pushing his fingers roughly through Derek’s hair.

Derek’s arms slid roughly around Stiles’ waist, all the warning he got before Derek was standing, supporting the smaller man so he could wrap his legs around Derek’s hips.

“Caveman is an excellent look on you,” Stiles smirked. Derek rolled his eyes, responding with a quick nip to Stiles’ collarbone.

“You are ridiculous,” Derek told him, “absolutely ridiculous.”

“Hasn’t stopped you yet!”

Derek pushed Stiles up against the wall in the hallway, silencing him with a deep kiss as his hands wandered to the hem of Stiles’ shirt. He pulled away, smirking at Stiles’ pout, and stripped both their shirts off in quick succession. He slipped his hands around Stiles’ back, fingers diving straight down the back of Stiles’ jeans to cup his ass as he claimed his lips again. Stiles groaned when Derek’s fingers slid almost immediately down to stroke light, teasing touches over his hole.

“Derek,” he whined, arching his back against the wall to try and get closer to the touch.

“What?” Derek asked innocently. He kissed Stiles again, giving his ass one more squeeze before letting his legs go and letting Stiles slide down the wall. He took Stiles’ hand, pulling him gently in the direction of the bedroom.

“You are the worst,” Stiles informed him, “the absolute worst. Sexual frustration is a horrible way to die and it’s entirely your fault.” He didn’t have to be able to see Derek’s face to guess that the Alpha’s eyes were probably rolling out of his head. He neglected to answer, though, choosing instead to nudge the door open with his hip before manhandling Stiles down onto his back on the bed.

“Better?” Derek asked as he made quick work of pulling off their jeans and boxers and tossing the clothes to the floor. Stiles nodded, taking in the planes and curves of Derek’s body, the way the light played over him as he moved around the room, totally naked, searching in drawers here and there. Stiles lay back on his elbows, appreciating the view.

When he finally turned, Stiles smirked to see the bottle of lube that Derek held.

“This okay?” Derek asked quietly. “I don’t want to-”

“Get over here right now,” Stiles interrupted. “Like, _now_ now. Ten minutes ago would be great, too.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Derek grumbled, but he crossed the room in three long strides, dropping the bottle next to the pillows as he covered Stiles’ body with his own. He took his time, driving Stiles crazy with carefully placed kisses and licks that formed a long, curving path down Stiles’ chest. The boy was panting, hands clutching at Derek’s shoulders by the time Derek finally reached his cock. He mouthed it hungrily, one hand circling the base as the other dipped down to tease at Stiles’ hole again.

“You want it so bad, don’t you?” Derek asked when Stiles’ hips bucked at the sensation. Stiles glanced down, but the witty remark he’d been planning disappeared when he saw the vulnerable look on Derek’s face. It occurred to him, then, that maybe Derek hadn’t had this before, certainly not since Stiles had known him; that he’d never had someone who wanted him for any reason other than to use him.

“Yeah, yeah I do,” Stiles answered quietly. “C’mon, Derek. I want you.” He pushed himself up with one hand and gently tugged Derek up with the other for a kiss. Derek kissed the way he did everything, with a quiet intensity that drove Stiles insane. There was fumbling, then, blindly, hands reaching hastily for the bottle lying next to them, slick fingers pressing greedily into Stiles’ body, pulling moans from both of them for what felt like hours until Derek finally pulled his hand away and wrapped it around his own cock, slicking himself up.

“Last chance,” he said lightly, eyebrows rising when Stiles snorted a laugh.

“Please, like I’d move after that,” he said. He lifted one leg, sliding it around Derek’s hips and pulling him down. “C’mon, Der, fuck me.”

“Pushy,” Derek murmured, though the ghost of a smile played across his lips at the nickname. He leaned down, kissing Stiles deeply as he lined himself up, sliding home in one long thrust.

“Fuck,” Derek breathed, burying his face in Stiles’ shoulder.

“That’s the- god- the idea,” Stiles moaned, blunt nails digging into Derek’s back. “Harder, Derek, c’mon, I’m not gonna break.”

Derek growled, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, grinning when Stiles threw his head back. The draw of the exposed skin proved to be too great, and Derek gave in, marking each slow, deliberate thrust with a bite that left Stiles’ throat bruised.

“Okay, enough,” Stiles groaned, “Jesus.” He pushed Derek away, taking him by surprise enough that he flipped them over easily, bracing his hands on Derek’s chest and lowering himself down. He set the pace, quicker, Derek’s hands hot like brands on his hips, and he sent a silent thank you to whatever deity happened to be listening that confidence came much more easily in dreams.

It didn’t take long after that. Stiles was close already, enough that when Derek’s breath started to hitch and the snap of his hips turned erratic, when he finally moved his hand to Stiles’ dick and started to stroke, it was all over. He came with a shout, and Derek wasn’t far behind, a growl pushing past his lips as both their movements slowed.

Derek rolled them over again as he pulled out, rearranging their bodies so he was spooning Stiles, pressing light kisses against the back of his neck. Stiles hummed happily, threading his fingers through Derek’s on his hip.

“I approve,” he announced sleepily. Derek huffed out a laugh, breath warm against his skin.

“I’m glad.”

Stiles relaxed, feeling boneless in Derek’s arms as his eyes closed and he slipped back into sleep. His last thought as he drifted off was, of all things, that he wished he’d be able to wake up like this, warm and safe and next to Derek.

# +1.

The usual pack meetings on Thursdays tended to run overtime, and this one was no different. They had all convened at Derek’s house to systematically work their way through pizza, wings, and Caesar salad, and talk about whatever came to mind. It was a happy, comfortable affair; after all the pack had been through, they were stronger than ever. They would all pile into Derek’s living room, draping themselves haphazardly over the furniture and each other.

They hung out for a few hours, generally. Sometimes one of the betas would throw on a movie, but that day, they were all sitting around, chatting. When the sky outside finally started to darken, Boyd stood up and stretched.

“We should probably get going.”

“Yeah, I’ve got chem first thing tomorrow, Harris will kill me if I blow something up thanks to being exhausted,” Erica agreed. She bounced up out of her seat, watching Boyd head for the door for a moment before launching herself onto his back. He rolled his eyes, playfully trying to push her off with absolutely no success as the rest of the pack stood. Stiles shrugged into his hoodie as he headed for the door. He was about to reach down and zip it up when his way was blocked by a muscular arm suddenly curling around his waist, a warm body taking up residence behind him.

He leaned back into the embrace without thinking, the body familiar enough that he didn’t question the action.

Until he realized that _he was awake and Derek Hale was hugging him_.

The pack seemed to clue in to this fact a split second after Stiles did, and Derek a moment after that, wrenching away from Stiles as fast as he could.

“What the hell-” Erica began, but before she could finish her sentence Stiles was out the door.

He wandered for a while; he’d left his Jeep parked outside Derek’s, of course, and had taken off down the street instead of jumping into his convenient transportation like a normal person. He didn’t really want to run into any of the pack, however, so he waited about half an hour before heading back towards the house.

By the time he got back, the betas were gone, and the only sign that they’d been around at all was the note someone had left fluttering under one of his windshield wipers.

_Derek is a bit freaked out ok don’t tell him I said so though just please talk to him, whatever has been wrong with you for the last month is wrong with him too now. So man up and tell him you’ve been pining over him even if you like to pretend you aren’t_

Scott was way more observant than Stiles was entirely comfortable with.

He glanced longingly at the Jeep, the driver’s seat beckoning him temptingly. It would be so nice to take the easy out, to just jump into the car and leave Derek to his thoughts and pretend nothing ever happened. The alternative, that Derek might actually have some inkling of what Stiles had started feeling for him- and possibly reciprocate, because Derek has never gone so far as to freaking _cuddle_ any of the other pack members so far as he knew- was totally beyond his brain’s current functioning level.

As he was debating the pros and cons of running, a light flicked on in the living room window. He looked over, gaze drawn by movement inside, to see Derek walk in, feet dragging, to throw himself into his chair. Grumpiness had always been a pretty common look for Derek, but as the pack had grown closer and their lives had evened out from the quite frankly alarming first act, it had fallen by the wayside, to the point where it was almost strange to see that old sourwolf curl to his lips. The Alpha wasn’t looking anywhere near the window, eyes focused on an invisible spot on the wall, and maybe Stiles was reading the situation wrong, and maybe he wasn’t, but he needed to at least try to take that dejected look off Derek’s face.

Determined, Stiles pushed away from the Jeep, Scott’s note crumpled in his hand, and ran for the door. He’d barely reached it when it swung open to reveal a scowling Derek, arms crossed across his chest.

“What,” he said flatly.

“Um, hello to you too?” Stiles answered weakly, giving Derek a little wave. “Look, I just wanted to-”

“I’m sorry if I scared you,” Derek cut him off, looking like it was physically paining him to say the words. “Lydia actually threatened to have me booked for assault, which I think is a bit of an exaggeration, but I know I probably surprised you and I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking but it won’t happen again.” He stepped back, making to close the door in Stiles’ face.

“Dude, hey, no.” Stiles scrambled forward to get a foot in the door, stopping it from closing and pushing his way into the hall. “You didn’t scare me, Derek. You haven’t actually scared me in ages, you know that, right?”

“That doesn’t mean overstepping my bounds is okay,” Derek ground out.

“Oh my god, you aren’t,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes. “I mean you weren’t. Obviously you aren’t now because you’re cowering on the other side of the hall like a kicked puppy, which, seriously, far be it from me to make dog jokes-”

“You make more dog jokes than anyone I know-”

“But come on, you’re the one who jumped away from me like you realized I had the plague the second everyone looked at us!”

Derek was staring at him, jaw locked. Stiles just raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms in front of him. “Well?”

“Well, what?” Derek muttered. “I wasn’t thinking. Or I was thinking too much about things I have no right to think about, and let that control my actions.”

“Things like what?” Stiles asked. Derek made no move to answer, pointedly not looking at him, so Stiles took a step forward. “Like what, Derek?”

“Like-” Derek let out a frustrated growl, running a hand through his hair. “You’re so fucking infuriating. You’re here all the time, you’re always in my space, and it used to be annoying and then it stopped. And I started missing you when you weren’t here. And I started-” He paused, glancing at Stiles from the corner of his eyes. “I started dreaming about you,” he finished quietly. “Nothing weird, I mean, I had a nightmare on the anniversary of- of the fire. And you were there and you talked to me and it helped and I realized that you weren’t just Scott’s annoying tag-along friend anymore, hadn’t been for a long time.”

Stiles knew he was staring, eyes wide, mouth open, the whole deal, but he couldn’t stop, not even when a blush started to spread across Derek’s cheekbones.

“You- you what?” He sputtered. “That dream-”

“I told you it wasn’t anything weird!” Derek broke in.

“No, Derek, I had that dream too!”

They both froze, eyes meeting across the space that separated them.

“You what?” Derek asked quietly.

“I had that dream,” Stiles replied. “’Why are you the way that you are?’” he mimicked.

“Oh, fuck,” Derek mumbled, dropping his head back against the wall with a thud before sliding down to sit on the floor. “Does that mean you-”

“Had other dreams about you? Yeah,” Stiles dropped down to sit cross-legged in front of Derek, reminding him absurdly of that first dream. “Did you? Because I’m starting to think they weren’t dreams so much as, like, psychic connections or something?” Stiles shrugged in response to the sceptical look Derek sent his way. “Werewolves,” he pointed out. “Vulcan mind-melds aren’t that much more impossible to believe.”

Derek snorted quietly.

“But you did, didn’t you? You had more dreams about me,” Stiles pressed.

“I did.”

“And they were about?”

Derek glared at him.

“Oh, come on. I’m here, aren’t I? I’m the one who suggested the whole hive-mind thing anyway. Or is it pack mind? But either way it’s not like I’m going to laugh.”

“You already ran once,” Derek pointed out quietly. 

“And I am an idiot, we’ve established that,” Stiles replied with a scowl. “You said you didn’t know what you were thinking? I was literally having what I thought was my dream come to life, minus some pretty awesome extras, and the second you realized you were touching me you bolted. You tell me, Derek. What was I supposed to do? Stand there and hope you didn’t rip my throat out? With your _teeth_?”

Derek stared at him for a long, drawn-out moment until Stiles was starting to worry that he had actually offended him. Before he could open his mouth to fumble out an apology, Derek surged forward, crowding Stiles back against the wall.

“I dreamed about you,” Derek breathed, hot and heavy against Stiles’ throat. “You, in my house, in my life. In my _bed_ , Stiles, with your hands all over me, and saying things… and then I had to wake up and remember that no matter how you actually saw me, it wasn’t the way I was starting to want it.”

“Derek-”

“Everything’s so peaceful now, everyone is so happy. It felt like having a pack again, the way I remembered it when I was a kid. And you feel right to me. I wanted you, I couldn’t help touching you, and you just _melted_ against me.” Derek let out a low whine into the crook of Stiles’ neck, and Stiles couldn’t help it. He raised a hand, cupping Derek’s jaw and tilting his head up.

“I’m not running,” he whispered, leaning forward and letting his lips ghost over Derek’s. “If you want me, I’m not running.”

It turned out, unsurprisingly, that kissing Derek Hale in the real world was even nicer than it was in a dream.

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: The dreams happen in order but they're not really set as far as timing goes. I picture at least a couple weeks, if not a month, between each one; enough for Stiles and Derek to start developing a friendship of their own, beyond whatever they discover in their dreams. The first one would be set post-series, about midway through Stiles' senior year, and the final one right around graduation.


End file.
